


Once a Family

by Simana



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Brotherly Love, Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simana/pseuds/Simana
Summary: Once a family, always a family. Nordic story, Denmark-centric. Five times Denmark was there for his family, and one time his family was there for him. No slash. Originally posted on FF.net. (A heads up - Denmark’s chapter may not be ready for a while).
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. Iceland

Iceland sat on the sofa, with the back of his head resting against his crossed arms, as he stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. He wasn't thinking of anything in particular, just idly musing over the current state of world affairs, and wondering how much liquorice he had left at home. Denmark was hollering about something unimportant in the background, but Iceland had grown so used to that by now that he blanked most of it out. It was just the two of them at Denmark's house for the moment; all the Nordics had agreed to gather there for the next meeting, but somehow Iceland had managed to confuse his timings, and had arrived a couple of days early. Rather than going all the way back to his country for such a short space of time, Denmark had insisted that Iceland stay with him until the meeting, calling it, "a good chance for you to catch up with your favourite big brother," words which Iceland had fiercely protested against, although once again Denmark seemed to remain perfectly oblivious to his meaning. 

Now, Iceland found himself stuck inside a house with nothing to do for two days except twiddle his thumbs, and with nothing but a noisy Dane for company. Sighing, Iceland closed his eyes and shifted around, tying to make himself as comfortable as possible on the sofa, which wasn't easy, seeing as every five minutes he found more random Lego pieces poking him in areas that should never have to come into contact with Lego pieces. 

Iceland opened his eyes again when Denmark poked his head around the corner, and asked loudly, "What do you want for dinner, Icey? I've got some fish if you want it. Mackerel I think. Your favourite."

Iceland stretched out his stiff back, and replied, "Sure, whatever, I don't care." Giving the other nation a wide grin, Denmark said, "No problem! I'll get it started!" before ducking back, and returning to the kitchen, where he proceeded to produce a sound almost like that of an orchestra of clanging pots as he dug through his cupboards, trying to find whatever it was he needed. 

Iceland soon gave up on the idea of drifting off to sleep, and stood up to search for something to do. He scoured Denmark's book shelf, and after rifling through it a bit, selected a novel that looked vaguely interesting, and went back to the sofa to have a read. As he settled himself, once again plucking another Lego figure out from under him (this one resembling an elderly man that was staring grumpily up at him), Iceland sneezed a couple of times; these books didn't look like they'd be touched in years, and they were covered in dust. Rubbing his tickling nose with his hand, Iceland opened up the book and began to scan half-heartedly through the pages. 

He didn't notice it much at first, but even when he did, Iceland ignored it, thinking it wouldn't come to much, and would die down after a couple of minutes. However, the symptoms gradually kept getting worse. Iceland felt his chest tighten up, and each breath became increasingly difficult to take; the nation could hear himself start to wheeze, and he coughed dryly a couple of times. Trying not to panic, Iceland closed the book, and lent forward, resting one elbow on his knee, as the other hand clutched his chest. Iceland hadn't had an attack like this since he was a little kid, and was desperately trying to remember what to do. Relax, he told himself. That's what Norge always said. Iceland's lungs were aching, and he strained to suck in some air, but it was getting harder and harder. 

Somewhere in the distance, a loud Danish voice was shouting something about vegetables. Danish voice. Denmark. Call Denmark, a small, sensible voice in the back of Iceland's mind suggested. He can help. Iceland lifted his head, and tried to shout for Denmark, but no sound came out. The corners of Iceland's consciousness were starting to turn dark. He couldn't think; he couldn't breathe. In desperation, he tried again. "Denmark," he wheezed painfully. "Dan." 

"Hey Icey, did you hear me?" Footsteps were approaching. Please help me, Iceland silently begged. "Was it peas or- Iceland!" There was a flurry of movement on the periphery of Iceland's vision, and suddenly he was staring into a pair of wide blue eyes, filled with worry. "Icey, what's wrong?" Denmark asked urgently, crouching down in front of him. "Help," Iceland gasped. "Can't-" he stopped when Denmark ran off almost as quickly as he had appeared. No, Iceland thought, trying to call him back, but nothing more than dry coughs came out, racking his body. Dark spots started to dance in front of his eyes. 

However, a few seconds later, Iceland felt an arm wrap itself around his shoulders, heard a rattling noise, and felt something being pressed against his mouth. "Breathe out first," said Denmark; the Icelandic nation didn't bother to question him, and tried his best to comply. "Okay, now open wide, and breathe in." As he did so, Iceland felt something being squirted into his mouth, a fine mist that settled cooly at the back of his throat. The effect was immediate, if subtle at first. Iceland's chest began to loosen, the awful tightness gradually dissipating, and his breathing started to even out, the ragged breaths becoming smoother. "Good, Icey," Denmark said encouragingly. "Now take another." 

Once again, Denmark squirted the spray into his fellow nation's mouth, the relief spreading deeper and deeper into Iceland's lungs, and eventually he reached up to hold the inhaler himself, although Denmark kept his arm around his narrow shoulders. Iceland was too shaken by the ordeal to push him off, and, though he would never admit it, he found the presence of the normally annoying-as-hell Dane very comforting. It reminded Iceland of his childhood, when he'd never hesitate to turn to one of his big brothers for reassurance, and it felt good to have Denmark beside him, protecting him as if he were still a little boy. 

Once Iceland's breathing returned completely to normal, he lowered the inhaler, and tried his best to regain some of his composure. "Thanks," he mumbled, watching Denmark from out of the corner of his eye, not quite willing to meet his gaze. When the Dane asked if he felt better, Iceland nodded in response, turning the inhaler over in his hands. 

"Where did you get this?" he asked, suddenly realising that there was no obvious reason why his fellow Nordic should have one so close at hand. Denmark cracked a grin, and playfully ruffled Iceland's hair. 

"I know you've had asthma before," he explained, finally releasing the teenager's shoulders, and sitting back with one leg folded casually over the other. "I've just kept one of those in my kitchen draw, for, I dunno, ages, in case you were here and you needed it." 

"Thanks," Iceland said again, finally turning his head to look at Denmark, who seemed surprisingly chilled out and relaxed for someone who'd just had to deal with a medical emergency. The other Nordic waved his hand, insisting that he had just done what any brother would've done. 

"You better keep that inhaler with you though, in case you get another attack," Denmark continued. "Can't have you fainting on us during the meeting, can we?" 

"Oh, dammit," Iceland said, rubbing his forehead with the tips of fingers. "I forgot about that. Any chance of you not mentioning this to Norway? He'd flip if he found out." 

"Oh, Norge isn't that bad," Denmark said, laughing. "But if you really don't want to say anything to him or the others, I won't tell. As long as your asthma doesn't get any worse, that is." 

Iceland gave the Dane a small smile of gratitude, before his stomach gurgled loudly. The Icelandic nation wrapped his arms around his middle in embarrassment, trying to keep it quiet, but Denmark just laughed again, and got back to his feet. 

"I'll get dinner finished," he said, heading out. "We can watch a movie or something afterwards if you like." He stopped then, and looked back at Iceland, a surprisingly serious expression on his normally cheerful face. "You do like mackerel, right?" 

Iceland nodded enthusiastically, bringing the smile back to the Dane's lips. However, just as he was about to disappear around the corner, Iceland called out to Denmark again, who turned around with an eyebrow raised in question. The Icelandic teenager hesitated for a few moments, awkwardly gaping his mouth like a fish, before sighing, and speaking. "Thank you, Denmark," he said. "For helping me, and just, you know, being a brother." 

The Dane's grin widened even more, and he cupped a hand around his ear, tilting his head towards Iceland. "I'm sorry, I don't think I quite caught that, thank you for being a what?" 

Scowling, Iceland crossed his arms and looked away. "You heard me, stupid Dane," he said. "I'm not saying it again." 

Chuckling, Denmark left, and Iceland reclined back on the sofa. Gazing out of the window, the young nation realised it had started to snow lightly, the flakes settling on the ground, only to melt and dissipate into the frozen earth almost as soon as they touched the surface. A sharp poking sensation in the small of his back broke the nation out of his reverie, and Iceland rummaged around beneath himself, until he removed the offending object. "Damn Lego gets everywhere," he muttered, flicking the little yellow figure across the room. 


	2. Norway

Norway gazed up at the sky, clear blue with not a cloud in sight, lost in the mesmerising depths. It was a crisp morning in early spring, and the air still held a certain level of leftover winter chill, so when a cool breeze whipped by, Norway pulled his fur cloak tighter about his shoulders, whispering a brief thanks to the animal that had sacrificed its life to provide him with warmth and comfort. 

As the wind tugged at his hair, Norway heard a familiar howl of greeting, and turned his head to look at the troll that was slowly lumbering its way up the path towards the nation. Giving the creature one of his rare smiles, Norway carefully picked his way down the dirt track to meet it halfway, where it then affectionately butted its head against the boy, causing him to skid over loose stones, and fall into an undignified heap on the ground. 

His smile widening, Norway clambered back onto his feet and reached up to scratch the troll in its favourite place behind the ear, which wasn't as easy as it sounded, seeing as the magical beast towered head and shoulders over the young nation. Rumbling in contentment, the troll closed its eyes and blew hot breath directly into Norway's face. 

Trying not to gag and offend his companion, Norway stepped back, and said, "Good morning to you too," before returning his attention to the ocean stretching out before him. Even at this time of year, the water was still ferociously powerful, and it pounded against the base of the cliff so hard that Norway half believed the rock would crack. As the troll settled itself down next to the nation, Norway once again became lost in contemplation, and started to idly voice his thoughts out loud. 

"The sea is very rough," he stated simply. "I wonder if they'll wait for it to settle before they take any boats out, or if they'll want to risk it in these conditions. After all, the people need more fish, and the salted ones from last year are getting low." The troll rumbled in agreement, and Norway raised an eyebrow at it. "What are you complaining about? You don't like fish, and you're fat enough to prove that you've got plenty of whatever it is that you do eat." 

The troll turned its head away in mock offence, and proceeded to ignore the nation. Smirking, Norway returned his attention to the ocean, and watched with silent wonder as a great gush of spray was flung up from the base of the cliff, a rainbow of colours dancing and shimmering throughout the water droplets. The Norwegian opened his mouth to talk to the troll, but was interrupted by a sharp pain on his neck. 

Turning around, the nation's heart sank at what he saw. A group of children from the village were standing at the base of the path; they must have walked as quietly as possible to avoid being heard. Their leader, a big brawny-looking boy, stood at the front of the pack, smirking. Trying to keep his face neutral, Norway asked him coolly, "What do you want?" 

Ignoring the question, the boy asked one of his own. "What are you doing up here, little freak? Talking to your imaginary friends again?", before laughing loudly, his companions joining in a moment later. Beside the nation, the troll got to its feet and growled low in its throat, though Norway was perfectly aware by now that he was the only one who could actually see and hear it. 

"Why don't you mind your own business?" he retorted, turning his back on them, and silently praying to all of Valhalla that they'd get bored and leave him alone. However, this was far from the case, and soon another sharp ping hit him on his back, soon joined in rapid succession by several more. He tried to walk away, keeping an arm raised to protect his face from the onslaught of stones, but the gang just followed him. 

Eventually, the children had spread out so that they surrounded him on all sides, and Norway was forced to come to a stop when the leader planted himself in front of him, blocking the nation's escape route. Norway was quite short, and so when he lifted his face to look at the boy, who had puffed his chest out in an effort to look more manly, it was more than a little intimidating. 

"You know my father, the chief?" he started in a light conversational tone. "He always says that when defective children are born, they should be abandoned in the woods, and left to freeze or be eaten by wolves. How did you escape? After all, a freak like you who sees things that aren't there can't be called normal, can they?" 

Over the years, Norway had almost perfected the ability to keep his facial expressions and tone of voice under tight control, but now he was having trouble containing both his anger and his tears. He was not a freak, nor was he defective. He'd known for a long time now that he wasn't quite like other people, but that didn't mean there was something wrong with him, did it? 

"I don't know why you've even been allowed to stay in our village," the boy continued to taunt, the other children sniggering along with him. "After all, you don't have any family, and even if you did, how could they love someone like you? Father says you've been around for years, but haven't grown even an inch in all that time. I bet you're really a demon or something." 

"Shut your mouth!" Norway snapped, shoving the other boy away from him with all the strength he could muster. "I'm sick of listening smelly pigs like you snort in my face!" Even as the words left his mouth, Norway regretted them. The brawny boy's eyes darkened, and he stalked closer to the nation, looking down his nose at him. 

"A pig, am I?" he hissed, before turning to his companions. "I think it's time we taught the freak a lesson, don't you?" The other children all cheered in agreement, and started to close in on Norway. The leader grabbed the nation's fur cloak and ripped it off his shoulders, while the rest of the gang proceeded to pull at the rest of the Norwegian's clothes, tearing most of them. Norway fought back as much as he could, but he just couldn't defend himself against so many. Eventually, the other children had stripped him completely, and Norway crouched down low on the ground in an effort to preserve both his modesty and his body heat. 

Laughing, the pack stood back to admire their work. "Now you'll get what you should've had long ago, freak. Say hello to the wolves for me!" before they all turned and walked off, congratulating each other, while throwing Norway's clothes over the edge of the cliff. 

Norway wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, curled in on himself as much as was physically possible, but after a while, he began to shiver, and knew he needed to find some shelter. Getting slowly to his feet, the young nation wrapped his arms around his middle, and hurried off towards a nearby copse of trees, wincing as his bare feet scratched against stones and thorns. Norway was alone now; the troll must have been scared off by all the commotion. 

Tucking himself down behind a large bush, Norway finally allowed his crumbling defences to break down completely, and tears started to trickle their way down his pale cheeks. He'd never felt so hurt or so humiliated in his whole entire life. The thought of returning to the village was pushed quickly out of the Norwegian's mind; he could never face going back there, especially not in his current state. Norway buried his face in his knees, crying softly to himself, and wished that a chasm would just open up beneath him, allowing him to disappear into the darkness forever. 

The sound of approaching footsteps caused Norway's heart to fill with dread. They must have come back to finish the job themselves, he thought, shifting position as quietly as possible, and warily poking his head over the top of the bush. However, the nation's fear gave way to relief when he spied a very familiar mop of wild blond hair. 

Denmark appeared to be looking for something, turning his head from side to side, and scanning the area. When Norway's foot cracked a stick, the Dane swivelled round to look at the place where the Norwegian was hiding, a grin spreading across his face when he spied his friend. 

"There ya are," he said triumphantly, walking over to the clump of trees. "I've been looking everywhere for ya. We were expecting ya back ages ago." Cocking his head curiously, he asked, "What are ya doin' down there?" 

Norway hastily rubbed his eyes dry, and tried in vain to think up a believable reason as to why he was hiding, stark naked, in a bush, without having to admit what really happened. However, after he stuttered lamely a few times, Denmark finally realised something was amiss, and came closer. 

"Norge, are you alright?" the Dane questioned, his smile replaced with a concerned frown. "What happ- hey! Your clothes! Who did this to ya?" 

Flushing red with embarrassment, Norway tried to shrink back into the bush, but Denmark had raced over, and was now crouched next to him, eyes filled with worry. "I, uh, no-one did this, I just, uh," but his failing explanation was cut off when Denmark removed his own cloak, and draped it around his friend's shoulders. 

"No-one did this to ya. Right," Denmark said, expression unusually grim. "It was those bullies from the village, wasn't it?" 

Norway's face told the Dane all he needed to know, and he stood up, before offering a hand to his fellow nation, who took it, while wrapping the cloak tighter about himself. Denmark then set off very purposely in the direction of the village, but Norway hesitated, remembering clearly everything that had been said to him. Looking over his shoulder, Denmark saw the Norwegian wasn't following him, so headed back to his friend. 

"We're not goin' back to live there," he stated, in such a stubborn tone that Norway knew any protest would be useless. "I'm goin' to pack two bags, and then we'll go travelling. I think there's another village a few days south of here where we'll stay." 

Slowly, Norway nodded, and a grin once again lit up his friend's face, as they both continued their walk back to the village. Once they neared the outskirts, Denmark ordered the Norwegian to wait there while he went inside to gather their belongings, and Norway made himself as comfortable as possible on the hard ground. 

The daylight was beginning to fade by the time the Dane returned, two large travel packs slung over his shoulder, and a very prominent black eye marring his face. Worry filling him, Norway got to his feet, but Denmark still seemed to be as happy as ever, cheerfully greeting his old friend as he dropped the packs down next to him. 

"Who hit you?" Norway asked, interrupting Denmark as he was listing all the items he'd managed to acquire. 

The other nation grinned stupidly, and said, "I bumped into that group of bullies, and decided to teach them a lesson." 

"Well that was stupid," Norway scolded him, his usual cold demeanour starting to resurrect itself. "There were loads of them, and only one of you. You're lucky they only gave you a black eye."

"Ha!" laughed Denmark, placing his hands on his hips and trying to make himself look as big and manly as possible. "It'll take more than a pack of bullies to defeat the King of Northern Europe! And besides, they came off way worse than me. Now c'mon, put some more clothes on before you freeze." 

Norway rummaged through one of the packs and dug out a few warm fur-lined garments, before pulling them on while Denmark respectfully looked away. Once he'd dressed, the Norwegian turned to face his friend, who grinned widely and picked up one of the packs. "That's better!" he exclaimed cheerfully, slinging the pack over his shoulder. "Now let's get out of this stinking pit." And with that, Denmark determinedly marched off, as Norway reached down to grab the other pack and hurried after him. 

The two young nations didn't get very far before the descending darkness forced them to make camp for the night. As they settled down next to a gentle fire, Denmark warbling away in the background, Norway felt a great sadness welling up inside him as he recalled the day's events, and the words said to him. Denmark looked over at his companion when he'd failed to answer a question, and with surprise spotted the tears tracking slowly down the Norwegian's cheeks, illuminated by the glowing embers. 

"Hey, don't cry," the young Dane said, scooting closer. "We're going somewhere way better, and I'm never gonna let anyone hurt you ever again. I promise."

"But...they were right, weren't they?" Norway said, sniffling slightly. "They said I'm not human...which is true. And they said I don't have any family...which is also true."

Before he could offer any resistance, Denmark lunged at the Norwegian and caught him in a great bear hug, holding him so tight that Norway feared his chest would give way. 

"I don't know I lot of things," the Dane said, in a surprisingly philosophical manner. "I don't know where the sun goes every evening, or why the birds sing at dawn. I don't really know why we're here, or what we even are. But I do know that you'll always be family to me. Brother." 

Once Norway had recovered from his surprise, he returned the Dane's hug, with a small smile playing about his lips. "Big Bro," he whispered.


	3. Finland

With a sharp intake of breath, Finland awoke. Eyes wide, the nation reached out with a shaky arm, groping around for his bedside lamp, struggling to see in the oppressive darkness. When the nation's hand brushed the lamp's surface, he grabbed at it quickly, fingers fumbling with the switch, but it snagged on his sleeve, and with the smallest of jerks it was sent clattering to the floor, bulb shattering. Heart thumping so loudly he half feared it would crack one of his ribs, the Nordic froze, before reaching under his pillow for the emergency torch he always kept there. Finland was drenched in sweat, despite it being a cold night. Shivering, he pushed the bedcovers back, and clambered out of bed, before heading to his bathroom, feet padding softly against the carpet. 

Bracing himself against the sink, the Fin stared into his reflection's eyes, taking slow, steady breaths as he tried to calm himself down. It was only a nightmare, the nation repeated silently. You're alright Finny, it wasn't real. Despite his reassurances, Finland couldn't help but notice the way his hands trembled as they clutched the sink, his knuckles white. Determined to pull himself together, the Nordic splashed water on his face, and gave himself as good a reassuring smile as he could muster, though it did little to calm his taut nerves. 

Taking a deep breath, Finland flicked the torch back into life, and opened the bathroom door. Darkness flooded in, heavy and oppressive, and the Nordic had to pinch himself before he was able to step forward. He walked determinedly across the room, eyes focused on where he knew the main light switch was located. Finland refused to pay the shadows any attention, despite the way they lurked menacingly in the dark corners of his room, and slithered along the floor, snatching at his feet. The beam of his torch cut through the darkness, small and fragile. 

Finally Finland reached the light switch, and the room was bathed in light. Releasing a shaky breath, Finland leaned back against the wall, allowing himself to slide down to the floor, legs tucked against his chest. Swallowing thickly, the Nordic tried to banish the remnants of his nightmare from his head, but the images continued to flash before him. Darkness. Coldness. Loneliness. Wars that had forever stained his heart. 

Trying to get back to sleep now was pointless. Collecting himself as much as he could, Finland pushed himself back to his feet, and headed downstairs. He flicked on every light switch he could find, the brightness helping to banish the last of the fear. As the kettle whistled, Finland glanced down at his watch, and winced as he saw the time. Oh well, he thought. You could always get some paperwork done. Settling down onto his kitchen table, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand, the Nordic took out his various files and flicked through them, trying to decide which ones he had the energy to tackle right now. Sipping his drink, and wincing as it burned his tongue, Finland selected a simple-looking document and set it down in front of him, casting his eyes over it. 

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

The shrill ring of a doorbell jerked Finland from a surprisingly peaceful, dream-free slumber. Groggy and confused, Finland blinked and tried to rub the sleep from his eyes so he could orient himself. His hand brushing something, the Nordic was surprised when he pulled a piece of paper off his cheek. He was even more surprised when he looked around the room and saw it was his kitchen. What? he thought. Looking once more at the paper, Finland's mind woke up enough to realise it was the document he'd been reading the night before. 

The doorbell echoed through the house once again, more persistently this time, and Finland had to clear his throat a few times before he was able to croak out a "Coming!" Standing up, Finland winced as his back and neck groaned in protest from spending half the night slumped over the kitchen table. Daylight was seeping in though the cracks in the curtains, and his mug of coffee sat cold and barely touched. He hurried over to the door, and rubbed his face to try and get some life back into him, before pulling it open with as cheerful a smile as he could muster. 

"Morning Finny!" Denmark greeted him, his usual wide grin lighting up his face. 

"Hello Denmark," Finland responded, surprised to find a fellow Nordic outside. "Have I forgotten about a meeting?" He moved over, allowing the Dane to enter. 

"Oh no, don't worry," Denmark said, stepping through and taking off his coat. "You said I could over some time to talk about designing a sales poster for those dolls. They haven't been doing so well lately, and I thought some of your creative talent could get more people interested. That alright?" 

Finland rubbed his eyes again and tried to stifle a yawn. "Yah, of course, I remember. Come through, I'll tidy up a bit."

Denmark followed him through the hallway into the kitchen, where Finland quickly collected up all his papers and stuffed them back into the files, before pouring the cold coffee down the sink and putting the kettle back on to boil. The Dane settled himself into a chair and let his gaze roam around the room while Finland prepared the drinks. Finland was still trying to clear the last remnants of sleep from his mind, and was still in a bit of a daze when he joined the other nation at the table. 

"Did you have a late morning Finny?" Denmark inquired, and Finland stared at him, uncomprehending, until he realised he was still wearing his pyjamas. Images from last night's dream flashed through his mind, and he grimaced at the memories. "You okay?" Denmark asked, brow creasing in concern at Finland's lack of response. 

The other Nordic shook himself, and forced a smile back onto his face. "I'm fine, don't worry. But you're right, I did wake up pretty late. I guess I forgot to set my alarm." He forced a chuckle, but it sounded fake and artificial even to him. Denmark raised an eyebrow, and looked as if he might comment further. Not wanting to talk about it, Finland quickly leant forward with arms crossed on the table top, and started the discussion. "So, a new poster to boost sales? Did you have anything in mind?" That immediately diverted Denmark's attention, and after a few minutes the kitchen table was once again covered in papers, each showing one with different images and slogans. 

The two Nordics carried on like this for a over an hour, Denmark scribbling doodles everywhere like an excited child, while Finland tried his best to figure out what they were meant to be, and point out as gently as possible how certain ones were completely irrelevant to their product. Coffee had woken Finland up, and he'd brought out some snacks for them to munch on, but he didn't bother getting dressed. The fear from last night was completely forgotten, and the Nordic revelled in how relaxing and surprisingly fun Denmark's visit was proving to be. 

The wind outside had picked up since Denmark had arrived, and soon Finland could hear rain lashing against the windows. The curtains were still closed, but the sound of the approaching storm was obvious within the house. Neither Nordic paid it any attention; they'd seen enough bad weather throughout their lives not to be bothered by a single thunder storm. The rumbling of thunder echoed above them, and lightning flashed across the sky. Denmark was in the middle of another doodle when the lights in the kitchen flickered, and then suddenly the room went dark. 

Finland froze in his place. He was no longer sitting in his kitchen, but standing in an arctic forest. The cold seeped into his very bones, and the floor was blanketed in a thick layer of snow. All around him, bodies were lying frozen and half buried in white. Blood pooled around most of them. He was alone, so alone it almost hurt. And it was quiet. The silence was deafening in its intensity. The nation puffed out rapid breaths of mist, and he thought he could hear a voice calling his name. 

"Fin? Finny? Finland!" The nation gasped and blinked, and suddenly he was back in the real world. The curtains that had been kept shut were now open, light pouring in. Outside the storm was settling, the heavy clouds moving away and taking the rain and thunder with them. Finland blinked and focused his eyes onto Denmark's face, who was now crouched in front of him, eyebrows knitted together in worry. It was then that Finland noticed how badly he shaking. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his heart was pounding in his chest, and sweat dripped down his face. 

"Finny?" Denmark repeated, and gently grabbed the other nation's shoulders. "Come on, say something!" 

Finland opened his mouth, but no words would come. Swallowing, he focused on calming his breathing, eyes locked onto Denmark's. Seeing that his fellow Nordic appeared to have registered his presence, Denmark pulled his chair over and sat back down, waiting for Finland to collect himself. Finland bowed his head and rubbed his face with his hands, before speaking. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Sorry-". 

"Hey," Denmark cut him off. "You've got nothing to apologise for, I'm only worried about you." He hesitated for a moment. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Finland took his hands away from his face and sighed. "I just...had a nightmare last night..." He gave a short, sharp laugh. "Pretty pathetic I know." 

"No it's not." Finland looked up in surprise. The Dane rarely sounded or looked so serious, and Finland gave him a small smile before continuing. He told the other nation the details of the nightmare, all the memories it'd brought back. When he'd been taken away from his closest friend, when he'd had to fight for an entire bitter winter for his right to be independent. When Finland finished, he noticed tears had started to leak from the corners of his eyes. 

There was a moment of silence, and then Denmark jumped out of his chair and pulled Finland into an embrace. Finland quickly returned it, and they remained there for several moments, before Denmark let the other Nordic go and sat back down. Finland wiped his face, but when he looked back up he was surprised to see Denmark's eyes were also glistening with tears. 

"I get them too," the Dane whispered. "Reliving the past, everything that's happened over the years...I know what it feels like. Just remember, we're family, and I'll always be here for you. If you ever want to talk, or cry, or whatever, all you have to do is ask." 

Finland stared at him, mouth agape, but then his face broke into a smile. A real smile this time, that reached his eyes. "Thank you, Dan," he said, and Denmark smiled in return. They were silent for a little while longer, then Denmark clapped his hands together. 

"So," he began. "Which of my amazing designs do you think are the best?"

Finland coughed awkwardly, and turned back to the collection of doodles. "Ah, I'll need to think about that a little." Soon the two Nordics were chatting and laughing as before, the incident forgotten, but leaving them closer than ever.


	4. Sweden

A certain blue-eyed, blond haired Swede's mouth was set in a hard straight line as he glared at the figure standing before him. This confrontation had been on the horizon for a long time; in fact, Sweden was surprised in had taken until now for the tension to boil over. He had never wanted it to come to this, but seeing as the other was still refusing to face reality, the Nordic had been left with little choice. Slowly, Sweden's fingers curled up into a fist, and he raised his arm, determined to knock some sense into this man...before rapping his knuckles against the surface of the table standing next to him. 

"See?" he said to the manager of the IKEA store, who was trying his best not to wet himself in front of the imposing figure. "Sounds different to this one." Sweden knocked against another table, producing a noise that, to the untrained ear, sounded remarkably similar to the one previously demonstrated. "It's hardwood, so it should be displayed at the other side of the store." 

The manager gulped, nervously adjusting his glasses and trying to discreetly wipe away the bead of sweat that was trickling down his cheek. "B-b-but sir," he stuttered, hoping this furniture fanatic would eventually get bored and go home. "The tables have always been displayed together. It would confuse the rest of our customers if we were to move them." 

"Hmm," Sweden rumbled. "Every other store is able to keep their hardwoods separate. I checked." 

The manager briefly considered making a comment about the state of this man's social life, but then thought better of it. "But, ah, sir, we are very understaffed at the moment, and we just don't have the resources required to make such a large alteration to the store's display."

For several long moments, the two locked eyes, both refusing to back down, until the nation finally broke the tension. Sweden grunted once, before turning away and heading in the direction of the offending tables, long navy coat billowing out behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief, the manager walked back to his office, legs trembling like jelly. 

Once he'd reached the aisle that housed the boxes full of DIY tables, Sweden glanced over his shoulder to make sure the manager hadn't followed him, and started to lift them off the shelves. If the manager doesn't care enough about the state of his store, the nation reasoned, then I'll have to rearrange it for him. The Swede had placed several boxes on the ground when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pausing in his work, Sweden cast his eyes over the message. 

norge ice nd fin still in sprmrkt. if ur not still staring @ sofas, wanna get coffee? D

The Nordics had all decided to spend a week together to catch up informally, and today they'd gone on a bit of a shopping expedition to the local retail park. While the others had headed to the supermarket to pick up groceries, the Swede had automatically honed in on the large IKEA store that was situated there. Knowing how their fellow Nordic got when he entered paradise, the others had left him to it and gone about their own business. Evidently, the Dane was proving tricky to entertain, despite being there for less than half an hour. Sweden shook his head, and put his phone back in his pocket, without bothering to reply. He was not in the mood to babysit Denmark. 

Getting back to work, Sweden spent a few more minutes in blissful peace, arranging the furniture in the correct way, before an unwelcome sound interrupted him. "Heeey, Sve," said Denmark, strolling over and joining the other nation, who hoped he could get away with just ignoring the Dane. "I texted you. Did ya get it?"

Sweden grunted in response, and picked up another box, hauling it off the shelf and onto the ground. Denmark leant his back against the opposite aisle, watching Sweden with his head cocked comically to one side. "What're ya doin'?" he asked, confused, as the Swede lifted the box up again and proceeded to lug it over to where he'd moved the rest. 

"Organising," he rumbled. Denmark shrugged and decided he might as well help out, and grabbed another box, before following Sweden. The two Nordics worked side by side for a while, Sweden giving up on the idea that Denmark would be more bored with him, and said Dane still clueless as to why they were rearranging a furniture store. Eventually, there was only one box left. Denmark grabbed it, and while walking off with it, called over his shoulder, "Do ya want to grab some coffee after all this?" Once again, Sweden grunted, which the Dane took as a yes. 

Stepping back to admire his handiwork and catch his breath, Sweden noticed the corner of another box poking out from the highest shelf. It was so far up that neither of then had seen it, much less been able to reach it, despite being two of the tallest nations. Even though it wasn't really affecting things from where it was perched, Sweden could feel himself becoming all twitchy at the prospect of it remaining where it was. 

Scouring his surroundings for an appropriate way to get up there, the Nordic's eyes landed on a round footstool tucked out of the way in a corner, and went to retrieve it. Upon placing it in the right spot, Sweden noticed how it wobbled slightly, but decided that as long as he was careful, he'd be fine. Clambering cautiously onto it, the blue-eyed nation found it put him just within reach of the elusive box, and stretched his arms up to get hold of it. A little further, he thought, gritting his teeth, and balancing on the tips of his toes to gain extra height. Just a little closer. He took one very small step forward, but that was all that was needed. 

The world lurched as the footstool rocked violently to one side. Sweden tried to correct his balance, however the momentum was too great, and the footstool tipped over, knocking the Swede's feet out from under him, and taking the nation down with it. Sweden flung his arms out, trying to grab hold of anything that would break his fall, but his fingers clutched at nothing but air as the ground rushed up to meet him. 

Sweden landed hard on his shoulder, and for a fraction of a second he was numb with shock, before the pain exploded through him. Jaw clenched as hard as possible, the Nordic tried his best to bite back the scream that threatened to break out. He stayed as immobile as he could, eyes screwed shut; every movement, even the slightest quiver, was enough to cause the pain to spike to a whole new level. Sweden was certain the sound of the crash had reverberated throughout the entire store, and sure enough, a few moments later he picked up the sound of multiple running footsteps. 

Sweden cracked an eye open, only to shut it swiftly at the sight of the large group of people that had gathered round him, all of them seemingly uncertain as to what to do. He wished they'd go away; he was too embarrassed and in too much pain to deal with a crowd of strangers. Through the murmur of concerned voices, however, Sweden heard his name being called in a familiar accent. 

"Sverige!" Denmark shouted, pushing his way through the throng, and hurrying to kneel by Sweden's side. "What the heck happened? Talk to me, Sweden!" 

Gulping hard, the Nordic grunted, "Shoulder," in a pained whimper, and tried not to cry out when he felt Denmark gently probe the area. Swearing under his breath, the Dane said, "I think you've dislocated it. I need to get ya outta here. Do ya think ya can sit up?" Sucking in a breath, Sweden nodded, and gingerly began to lift himself from his prone position on the floor, Denmark supporting his back, and both trying to avoid aggravating the Swede's injury further. 

Once Sweden was upright, Denmark used a scarf donated by one of the onlookers as a makeshift sling, tying it around his fellow nation's neck in order to support his arm. Slowly, with help from the Dane, Sweden got to his feet, and the two made their way out of the store, and across the car park to Norway's car. Using a spare set of keys that the Norwegian didn't know he possessed, Denmark unlocked the car, Sweden easing himself into the passenger side while the Dane hopped into the driver's seat. Taking his phone out of his pocket, Denmark typed a quick message to the others. 

Gotta take Sve to hospital. Stole ur car Norge, sorry. D

Denmark knew the others were going to freak out when they read that, but he didn't have time to give a more detailed explanation. Glancing across at Sweden, whose head was bowed and face tight with pain, Denmark started up the car, and sped off towards the hospital. 

The journey was spent in silence, broken only by quiet hisses from Sweden whenever the car bounced over a speed bump or jerked around a corner. After fifteen minutes of broken speed limits and several runs through red lights, Denmark pulled up outside the A&E section of the hospital, disregarding the no parking signs. A little while later, the injured nation was sitting on a hospital gurney, shoulder being carefully examined by a doctor. 

"It's definitely dislocated," she told the two. Denmark stood off to one side, arms crossed, frowning in concern as he watched Sweden grip onto the side of the gurney, face screwed up as the doctor continued to prod him. 

"Can't ya be more careful?" the Dane snapped after Sweden let out a slight whimper. "You can see you're hurting him." 

"I'm sorry," the doctor replied, keeping her voice calm and patient, "but I must examine him in order to know the full extent of his injury. The good news is the joint will be fairly easy to put back in place, although I'm afraid it will hurt. If you're ready sir, I'll do it now." 

Sweden took a deep breath, glanced once at Denmark, and nodded. The Dane, recognising the silent request in the other Nordic's eyes, immediately crossed the room and offered him his hand. Sweden took it with his uninjured one, feeling slightly embarrassed about needing to be comforted, but hurting too much to care right now. As the doctor began, Denmark gave him a smile, and tried to distract him with conversation, commenting on how hard Norway would smack him for stealing his car. Suddenly, with a sickening clung, Sweden's shoulder was popped back into place. The Nordic cried out, and clenched Denmark's hand, hard enough to make the other wince, but the relief was instantaneous. Sweden sighed as the pain receded, and released Denmark's hand, mumbling an apology as he noticed how the Dane massaged it, despite the nation trying not to make it obvious. 

"I'm sorry for hurting you," the doctor said, as she rummaged in a draw to find a more appropriate sling. "But I hope you're feeling much better?"

Sweden nodded once. "Ya," he replied simply. "Thanks." 

"You'll need to keep it immobile for a while though," the doctor continued, as she brought a sling over, and proceeded to secure Sweden's shoulder in place. "It'll probably be sore for a little bit, but some off-the-shelf painkillers and ice packs should help ease it. And take care while moving furniture next time." 

The Swede blushed brightly, even more embarrassed that the truth behind his accident was out. Denmark chuckled, and scratched the back of his head. "Sorry, Sverige," he apologised. "But they wanted to know what happened in case they needed to look out for anything else." 

Once they signed all of the relevant paperwork, and Sweden was given a last minute check over, the two nations headed home. Norway had responded to Denmark's text, telling him they'd got a taxi back, and threatening the Dane with death by strangulation if he put so much as a scratch on the Norwegian's new paintwork. However, Denmark could tell how worried they all were, and had quickly reassured them that Sweden was fine. 

In the car, Sweden was silent as usual, until he mumbled something Denmark couldn't quite catch. "What was that?" the Dane asked. 

"Thank you," Sweden repeated, louder. "You didn't have to help me."

"What are you talking about?" Denmark exclaimed, taking his eyes off the road for a dangerously long period of time to stare at his fellow Nordic. "We're bothers, aren't we? What did you expect me to do, leave you writhing around in pain on the floor of a furniture store? I'll always have your back, no matter what."

Sweden's cheeks coloured a little, and he turned his head to watch the trees and hedgerows whip by. "It was a stupid mistake. My fault. You didn't have to pick up the pieces."

"Accidents happen, Sve," Denmark insisted, slowing the car down as they pulled up outside Norway's house, where they were all staying for the week. The other three Nordics could be seen through the window of the front room, all anxiously waiting their return. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, so don't beat yourself up over it."

"But still," Sweden trailed off, uneasy at the prospect of explaining to the others how much of a fool he'd just made of himself. 

"Quit worrying!" the Dane insisted, clambering out of the drivers side. "We're all just glad you're alright! If I were you, I'd take advantage of all the attention everyone will be giving ya. I think I can already smell the cupcakes Fin said he'd bake for ya."

Denmark's grin was so wide that Sweden couldn't help himself, and he felt the corners of his own lips twitch up in a small smile. Following the Dane up to the front door, Sweden reminisced about the long history he shared with this man. Sure, there'd been plenty of times when he'd wanted nothing more than to punch his stupid face, but for now, Sweden was just glad to have his brother by his side.


	5. Sealand

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. He worked just as hard as the official countries, didn't he? He poured everything he had into achieving his dream, right? Why wasn't that good enough? Why wasn't he good enough? What more did he have to do just to be recognised? 

Sealand rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, but it did little to stop his crying. He hoped no one had heard his quiet sniffles from within this hiding spot, but he'd been in here a while and he appeared to have gone unnoticed. And even if he was heard, the other nations would probably just ignore him, as they did every day. Wardrobes made the best hiding places, he decided. You could shut yourself away from the world, undisturbed, and let your sorrows pour out. Normally when Sealand was upset like this he'd just cry down the phone to Latvia, but right now he just couldn't stand the idea of talking to anyone. 

Somewhere nearby, a door swished open. Sealand froze and held his breath, his fingers gripping tighter to the sailor hat held in his lap. Footsteps echoed up the hallway, coming in his direction. The micro-nation stayed as still and quiet as possible, blinking away a few more tears. Walk away, please walk away, he silently begged. The last time he'd been caught lurking around the conference hall was by Germany, and he did not wish to be on the receiving end of another of that man's lectures. 

The footsteps slowed as they approached the closet, and halted just outside. Sealand scooted back a little into the jungle of coats, as if that would somehow help, but winced as the wood gave out a rather audible creak. There was the sound of squeaking shoes and rustling fabric, and the micro nation had no time to better hide himself before the doors were pulled open and a shadow loomed over him. 

"Sealand?" It was Denmark. The boy in question opened eyes that he hadn't registered closing, and peered up the Nordic nation. 

"Uncle Den? I thought you were in the conference," Sealand responded. 

"I was. But I needed a break, and I saw the ribbon from your hat poking out of this cupboard." Denmark's brow was creased with concern as he settled down on the floor in front of Sealand. "Now are ya gonna tell me what you're doing in here?" 

Sealand shook his head roughly as he clambered out of the wardrobe. "It doesn't matter," he muttered, and turned to leave. But before he could run off, Denmark grabbed ahold of his arm and swivelled him back around to look the micro-nation in the eye. 

"Sealand," repeated Denmark, his droopy, puppy-dog eyes uncharacteristically serious. "What's the matter?"

He couldn't take it anymore. The dam burst, and Sealand collapsed sobbing against Denmark's chest, gripping him until his shirt almost ripped, as the Dane wrapped his arms around him. He let all his frustrated thoughts and hurt come spilling out, and all the while Denmark softly rubbed his back, and whispered gentle comforts in his ear. Even once he'd reached emotional exhaustion, Sealand stayed where he was, curled up in his uncle Den's lap. He could almost fall asleep right here. 

"Sealand, are ya really sure ya wanna become a recognised nation?"

The micro-nation's eyes flew open, and he stared up at Denmark with shock and betrayal written all over his face. "What? You don't think I'll ever be a proper nation either?" He pushed himself off Denmark's lap. "You're just like everyone else!" Within seconds he was scrabbling to his feet and about to run for it, but once again Denmark caught his arm and held him back. 

"Hey, that is not what I'm saying," Denmark insisted. He tugged on Sealand's arm. "Will ya look at me, please?" Sealand hesitated, but did as he was asked. He was shocked at the expression of hurt on the Dane's face, and guilt welled up inside him. Biting his lip, he mumbled an apology. 

"I just want ya to know that it ain't all it's cracked up to be," Denmark continued. "Being a nation takes a lot of hard work, I'm telling ya. We've all put blood, sweat and tears into becoming who we are today; literally. You're so young, ya need to enjoy your childhood while you've still got the chance." A shadow darkened the Dane's face for a moment, and the first time ever, he looked almost...old. "I would give anything to start over. To go back in time and redo it all, fix all the stupid mistakes I've made. But," and just like that, the daft grin returned, like the sun from behind a cloud, "you've still got time, Sealand. You will become a great nation some day, I know it. Just don't focus so hard on that goal that you forget to be happy now." 

Sealand was speechless. His bottom lip quivered, emotions threatening to spill over the edge, and he swallowed thickly. Denmark sat back on his heels and rubbed the back of his head. "That was a little intense, wasn't it? Sorry, I usually leave this kind of stuff to Finny." He chuckled awkwardly. 

The micro-nation numbly shook his head. "No, it was... I..." 

Denmark got back to his feet and held out a hand to pull Sealand up. "How about we go get ourselves an ice-cream, huh?" he suggested. "It's not like I was even paying attention to that meeting anyway." 

A bright smile lit up Sealand's face, and for the first time in what seemed like an age, he felt like laughing. "I'll race you," he dared, and sprinted off down the corridor. 

"Hey, not fair kid!" It didn't take long for Denmark to catch up to him, of course, and when he did the Dane grabbed Sealand under the arms and spun him around, before tossing him over his shoulder. Laughter bubbled up from Sealand's throat, and he decided that Denmark was right; he did need to learn to enjoy the present. 

"Wait, wait, you forgot my hat!" Sealand cried. 

Chuckling, Denmark trotted back up the corridor to retrieve it. "Can't be going out without this now, can we?" he said. "Ya know, I think sailor style suits me." Sealand squirmed around on the Dane's shoulder, and saw his hat perched precariously upon Denmark's spiky hair. 

"Hey!" Sealand protested, trying to grab it. "Give it back!" Denmark only laughed harder, and he tilted his head to keep the hat out of Sealand's reach. A door somewhere opened, and an annoyed German voice shouted after them. Denmark quickly dropped Sealand back onto his feet, and the two of them, with Sealand's hat back in its rightful place, sprinted off down the corridor, laughter echoing behind them.


End file.
